


To Know A Demon's Heart

by trash_devil



Category: Disgaea 5: Alliance of Vengeance
Genre: Canon Divergent, Multi, also the last chapter is kind of gross, but its fluffy too, christo is a big gay and killia is not, in a bloody way, its a little bit angsty, like a Pomeranian with a few thorns stuck in its fur that occasionally prick your hand, one instance of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-03-16 11:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13635003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_devil/pseuds/trash_devil
Summary: There's still a lot of things Christo still doesn't understand about demons.There's a lot of things demons don't know about angels.





	1. Duality

**Author's Note:**

> starts kinda in the middle of the Flowerful chapter

Demons and kindness, demons and love. He never imagined that those things were compatible, yet he had been proven wrong. That belief so deeply ingrained in him, wrong. So then, what could he trust? What could he believe? If a demon’s heart held love, was it so outlandish to think that perhaps hatred and been the territory of angels all along? That angels were the ones who were truly brutal? That he was a creature of cruelty unimaginable?  
He could ask himself the same questions over and over, but not even his Clairvoyance held the answers. He had checked and double-checked, and the only thing he could find was that yes, demons could love. Nothing about himself. Nothing about why.  
Well. No harm in checking once more. Christo pushed his glasses up his nose and stared long and hard at Killia.—

[numbers numbers numbers numbers potential skyrocketing so much so much much much zeroes after zeroes after zeroes a hundred a million infinity pushing pressure values with no words to describe hurts no hurts hurts hurts no  
two. two? two two two 2wo 2 2 22222222—]

Two.  
Two Killias?  
He couldn’t hold onto it anymore. His concentration broke and he came back to reality like an exhausted diver rising from the depths of the ocean, gasping for air, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his face. His brain felt ready to burst.  
Two Killias.  
And yet, not. He tried to think it through, but his thoughts scattered like ants when the boot comes down. Everything was spinning, a whirlwind of information that he could not understand, words with their meanings dripping away until it was just the sickening vertigo of empty confusion.

Christo bent over and threw up on Seraphina’s immaculately cleaned Netherworld floor.


	2. Sacrifice

The others all slept, but Christo remained awake. His chest hurt with a strange uncomfortable nervousness and the insides of his eyelids promised nothing but anxiety-ridden nightmares.   
And everyone else slept.  
How? How could they close their eyes and drift into unconsciousness when they had heard of the war that Killia had been fighting with himself, by himself, all alone? How could they dream with that guilt weighing on their hearts? He was tempted to say it was because they were demons, but he couldn’t use that excuse anymore.  
Time seemed to move so slow.   
Christo let out a long sigh and glanced down at Killia’s sleeping face for probably the eighteenth time in five minutes. Even in sleep his face was troubled; was he fighting even now? It made Christo want to take him in his arms and whisper lullabies into his ears.   
An angel, comforting a demon? How absolutely absurd! Christo laughed at himself.  
“Well, let me be absurd,” he said. He mouthed the words to a silent prayer, and a soft glow lit up his fingers. He pressed them to Killia’s bare chest.  
Of course, he couldn’t make all his problems vanish like magic, no matter how much he wished he could. But he could give Killia more time, more strength, a helping hand against the darkness inside him. A warm rush of power from Christo’s veins to his.  
And the despair that flowed the other way, pitch-black hurt that no angel purity could dilute. There was always a trade off. The strongest of angel magic worked off of sacrifice, after all.  
Christo lifted his hands and backed away from Killia’s bedside. He stumbled a bit, woozy, and got about two more steps before crumpling into an unconscious lump on the floor.

When Killia woke up, he was already braced against the slew of hatred that he knew his other self would pour onto him. Or he would pour onto himself. He wasn’t entirely certain.  
But, to his surprise, it didn’t come.  
Oh, sure, the bastard was still there, scratching at his insides, but it was nowhere near the onslaught he expected. He didn’t know what made the impulse so easy to brush off on this morning, and, frankly, he didn’t care. He stretched and smiled; for once this might be a good day.  
And then tripped over the prone form of Christo.  
“Ugh, what the hell…?” he muttered, rolling over to get a better look at why he had fallen. “... Christo?”  
Christo covered his face with one arm and said in a half-asleep mumble, “Christo this, Christo that, why don’t you just get another an—…” He trailed off as he began to remember where he was. “An, an, an…” he stammered.  
Killia got back to his feet and helped Christo up. “Dreaming, huh? There’s better places to sleep, y’know.” He reached up to push Christo’s horns back into place; they had slipped to one side from his time on the floor.  
“I-I, uh…” Killia other hand was still holding onto his, and he found it hard to concentrate on anything else for some reason. “T-Thanks.”  
“Don’t sweat it.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “You feeling alright?”  
Christo’s voice caught in his throat. Having felt a fraction of the darkness that Killia felt every day made the genuine concern in his eyes all the more striking. “You’re very strong,” he said dumbly.  
“... Eh?” Killia asked. It wasn’t like Christo to be inarticulate.   
Christo said nothing, just stared at him.   
That intense gaze was making him nervous. “Christo, um—”  
“I KNEW IT!!” a different voice blared like a fire alarm. The barrel of a gun cut through the air between them and slammed onto Christo’s arm, knocking his hand out of Killia’s. “I knew it the moment I saw you! You are into BL!!”  
Christo immediately reddened, shocked out of his reverie by her interruption. “I-I- What!?” he sputtered. “First calling me an angel, now this!? Stop making such outlandish accusations!”  
“You were looking so tenderly into my Sir Killia’s eyes! Have you forgotten your place? He’s mine!”  
“I know, I know!” He grabbed onto the barrel of Seraphina’s gun and yanked it down so it pointed at the floor instead of his face. “Would you stop waving those things around for Go— f-for Devil’s sake! I get it! Looks aren’t gonna get you far with that rotten personality…”  
“What did you say to me?” Seraphina growled. She whipped out her other gun.  
Christo glared at her. “I said—”  
“All men must bow before me! Balor Gaze!!”  
A few seconds of silence ticked by as they waited.  
“... That was a perfect example of what I’m talking about,” Christo said at last, apparently unfazed.  
“H-H-How!?” Seraphina looked about ready to explode in frustration and anger. “There! Proof! Only an angel would be able to resist me!!”  
Killia tapped her shoulder to remind her that he was still there. “It doesn’t affect me either,” he said calmly, “and I’m no angel.”  
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s because your heart is already full of someone else. … Someone else…” She turned back to Christo, a smug smile replacing her earlier expression as easy as the flip of a switch. “Are you, perhaps, in love?”  
“For the last time, no, I’m not in love with Usalia! Can’t I just help someone? I mean, healing is what I do...”  
Seraphina shook her head. “No, no, not her. The one you love…” She paused for dramatic effect, and then pointed one finger at Killia. “Is him!!!”  
“I’m not— That’s not— You’re impossible!”   
Killia just looked at him curiously. “Really?” he asked.  
“I-I-I-...”  
Why was it so hard to just say no? Angels made terrible liars, but it wouldn't be a lie, right? It wouldn't have been one yesterday. Why did it feel like one today?   
Yet something about having brushed against the sorrow in Killia’s heart, something about the unyielding strength with which he took that burden atop his shoulders, something about the way the thought of losing him felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest…   
So instead of replying, he spun on his heel and walked away, trying to ignore Seraphina’s mocking laughter following him as he left.


	3. Secret Ingredient

Killia was too busy shoveling food into his mouth to notice Christo staring at him again. He barely even noticed when the so-called Overlord knelt down right in front of him.  
He did, however, notice when Christo grabbed both of his hands and made his rice spill all over the ground.  
“What're you doing?” he said—or rather, snarled. It was creeping up on him again.  
Christo smiled at him, but did not speak.  
And then a blinding light scorched his irises. The world was nothing more than a brilliant white emptiness.  
And when he could see again, he suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.  
“Christo, what did you do…?” he asked quietly. There was something he recognized in the magenta of his eyes, something dark and familiar and frightening.  
“You may find your burden a little lighter,” Christo answered, still smiling.  
“You mean you—”  
“Hush. I have nothing to lose, Killia, and you have the whole world.” He laughed, a sound like the distant ringing of bells, and let go of his hands. He stood, drawing his staff, and added, “Time to fight.”  
He angled his shoulders to block Killia’s view of his shaking hands, but he needn’t have worried. Killia hurdled past him; there was no time for his attention to linger on his companions before his fists collided with the Lost. He moved in a whirl of barely bridled power, and it took but a few seconds for him to reduce them to nothing.  
He stood panting amongst the carnage, and then dropped to the ground. He produced several bowls of noodles out of nowhere and started slurping them up.  
Christo sighed like an exasperated mother and walked up to him. “You have to stop pushing yourself.” His fingers brushed Killia’s shoulder, but the demon swatted it away.  
“I can handle myself,” he growled.  
I can help you, Christo wanted to say, but he didn’t get a chance to before a well-placed bullet sent him to his knees. With a solid kick, Seraphina knocked him out of the way and took his place at Killia’s side.  
“I’m here for you, though,” she said. “You can’t do everything by yourself.” Her lips pursed in annoyance.  
Something flickered across Killia’s face and before he could think, his lips mashed against hers. He regretted it immediately. Her fingers dug into his back, ten burning spots of guilt, pressing him up against this girl who was nothing but a substitute for his Lieze. But he kissed her with the desperation of a drowning man, trying to cling to whatever scraps of a heart he had left, trying to trick himself into thinking it really was Lieze in his arms.  
On some level, Seraphina knew all that too. But a kiss was a kiss, and she was confident that she could convince him that the substitute was better than the real deal.  
Meanwhile, Christo gagged. He opened his eyes to the sight of them and his stomach began to try and make its way up his throat, a sickening sort of hurt piercing through his insides. He didn’t want to be here anymore, he thought as little spots of black danced across his vision. Lightheaded hyperventilation.  
Wasn’t passing out a bit like teleporting? He would get to wake up someplace else, sometime else, without having to deal with all the bits in between.  
Yes.  
Life moving on without him being there.

The first thing he heard upon regaining consciousness was, “Is everything okay, plip?”  
The first thing he saw was Usalia hovering over him, her childish face at odds with her adult-like expression of worry.  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Christo said.  
Usalia looked at him skeptically. “Really, plip? Killia says you keep trying to help him, even though he has to do this by himself. And when you do that, you get all dizzy and can’t fight, plip.”  
“That’s just—”  
“Don’t even bother, plip. You’re a bad liar.” She shook her head in disapproval. “We’re going to head out soon, plip, but everyone agreed that you should stay here.”  
“I can go!” Christo protested, but Usalia’s little hands pushed him back down as he tried to get up.  
“Nuh-uh, plip. You need to get better so you can fight later, plip.”  
He felt stupid, arguing with a child. It’s impossible to win an argument with a child. “... Fine…”  
She smiled. “Don’t worry, plip. We’ll be back soon, so you just focus on yourself for a bit, plip.”  
She rolled away on her Prinny. Christo stared up at the ceiling.  
Maybe she was right and he had taken it too far. He felt so weak.  
Nonsense, protested another part of him, it’ll pass.  
He sat up on the bed and looked around. Everyone had left already; only a few stray Prinnies and maids wandered around. None of them paid him any mind.  
He didn’t want to lie around and be useless, so he stood and wandered off into the kitchen.  
No one was there, either. Tonight’s curry sat simmering in its pot, stewing itself to perfection for his allies’ return. Christo picked up a kitchen knife and rolled up his sleeves.  
A good dose of angel blood in the curry would strengthen them. He slid the blade across his skin, nevermind that this broke Celestial law. What did he care for Celestia anymore? His loyalty was with his allies, and he was determined to make up for missing this fight. Red droplets rolled off his arm and splattered and sizzled into the pot.  
Drip, drip, drip.  
Then, with a single touch, he stopped the bleeding. The wound scabbed over under his fingers. It was still present, but it wouldn’t bother him.  
He wiped the knife off on his robes and set it back on the counter.

Who didn’t like a little extra kick to their curry?


	4. Christo's Teenage Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i may have forgotten where i was going with this but enjoy these few chapters of gays while i try to figure this out

Christo couldn't take his eyes off of Killia from the moment the demon returned. That new look in his eyes, calm and confident and just as caring as before, entranced him. The way he carried himself now, and, when he thought no one was listening, the way he would hum soft songs to himself.  
It made Christo’s chest so tight that he was having trouble breathing. What had he missed? What transformation had occurred?  
Why wasn’t he a part of it?  
He shook his head and tried to laugh at the ridiculousness of his thoughts, but all that came out was a choked noise more like a sob. A few stray Prinnies gave him an odd look.  
Christo felt tears pricking at his eyes. He couldn’t let anyone see; demon’s don’t cry. He turned and leapt up the platforms behind him. No one really went up there. He wanted to be alone.  
Or, not quite alone. But alone was the next best thing aside that impossibility. So, what could he do? He buried his face in his sleeves and let a few tears leak through.  
Angel’s weren’t meant to be sad, so why did he feel this way?

Christo’s absence at dinner did not go unnoticed. Killia rose from his seat despite Seraphina’s protests, a plate of curry in each clawed hand.  
“I’ll be back soon,” he said, not looking at her. It was no use to try and make him stay. He still had that loner quality that separated him from them, that gap that was sometimes closed and sometimes unbridgeable.  
One glance was sufficient enough to tell him that Christo was not in his usual place. His hands full, he tapped a passing Prinny with his foot.  
“Where’s Christo?”  
“I think he went up there, dood,” the Prinny answered, pointing with one flipper.  
“Thanks.” He caught the Prinny’s hungry stare. “... Here,” he said, handing one of the plates over. It would be easier to climb with one hand free anyway.  
“Thank you, dood!!” the Prinny called to his retreating back. If he heard, he didn’t show it.

The Prinny was right.  
“Hey,” Killia said. Christo didn’t look up, but he still scooted over to make room for Killia to sit next to him.  
“Hello,” he said quietly. He was afraid his voice would quiver and give him away if he spoke any louder.  
“Brought you dinner.”  
“I’m not hungry.”  
Killia was about to protest, but at that moment Christo raised his head and all his words died in his throat. His glasses had slid down his nose, and without the shine of the lenses, his eyes were unsettlingly dull. With a jolt, the demon realized that it was nothing new. Christo always had that dead-eyed gaze, those two blank pools void of emotion. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then Christo had none.  
Or, maybe his just had curtains.  
“What’s wrong?” Killia asked.  
Christo smiled a perfect angel smile. Serenity rippled off of him in waves. Not a single part of the act was true. “Nothing is,” he said.  
The demon looked at him sideways, brow furrowed in concern. “I think you’re lying.”  
Christo shrugged and let the smile slip away. “So what if I am?” He stared off into the distance for a few silent seconds, and then turned back to Killia. “You should eat.”  
“So should you,” Killia said. He had already pulled out a pair of chopsticks and split the dish of curry neatly down the middle. He produced a second pair for Christo.  
“Somehow, I don’t think you’re going to take no for an answer.”  
“Nope.” He slid closer to Christo so he could put the plate in both of their reaches. Their shoulders pressed together, and Christo did his best to ignore the heat that flooded into his cheeks.  
“Spicy?” Killia asked.  
Christo couldn’t tell if it was a genuine question or Killia giving him an opportunity to explain away his blush, but he took it anyway. “Y-Yeah,” he said.  
The curry was delicious as always. It spread a comfortable warmth through his body.  
Killia’s head lolled onto his shoulder, and Christo nearly jumped out of his skin. A gentle snore answered the question of why.  
He tried his best not to move to keep from disturbing him. His heart performed acrobatics in his chest.  
It didn’t mean anything. Killia needed his rest.  
That was all.


	5. Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, trying to get back on track with this one  
> not taking it off hiatus quite yet because I still need to plan more chapters out (and I don't trust myself to keep up tbh), but I'm definitely going to be setting aside more time to work on this
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the wait on this one  
> Next chapter should be up some time after I finish my Press Start stuff

“You’ve been acting really weird lately,” Killia said to the sullen lump of maybe-demon. He knelt down to poke him in the cheek. “Look, I get wanting to be alone, but sometimes you gotta rely on others a bit.”  
“Look who’s talking,” Christo grumbled.  
“Hey, at least I’m trying to get better.” He sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. “So talk to me.”  
Christo laughed. He was afraid that if he didn’t, he might cry instead. Killia was absolutely the last person he wanted to talk to about this.   
“What’s so funny?”  
In between giggles, he gasped out, “Honestly? I think I’d rather die.”  
“Didn’t know you hated me so much.”  
“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.” He smiled, and before Killia had time to process what he said, added, “It just can’t be put into words.”  
“Can’t you at least try.”  
“You think I haven’t?” Still smiling, he rose to his feet and spread his arms helplessly. “Twenty-six letters, ten digits, forty-six hiragana into countless kanji, a thousand other languages, and not a single way to say how I feel.”  
Killia rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, I think you’re a little too smart for your own good. Too much other stuff’s crowded out our common sense. If words don’t work, there’s other ways to communicate.”  
“Impossible. Incompatible.” Killia thought Christo was referring to himself and wordless communication, Christo meant himself and Killia. “Incompatible orientation.”  
“What?”  
“Nothing you should worry your pretty little head over.” He flashed another smile and swept past Killia in a swirl of robes.   
His fingers brushed briefly against Killia’s, and the demon felt a warm shock run up his arm, something strange and bright and electric. He tried to hold onto the feeling, onto Christo’s hand, but he was just out of reach.   
“Come on now, Killia. We have a certain someone to be saving, don’t we?”  
“Of course,” he mumbled through his concentration. At last, he managed to grab onto Christo’s arm.  
Christo inhaled sharply.  
The feeling was gone now, but his grip only constricted.   
“Please stop,” Christo said quietly. Blood was soaking through his sleeve where the demon’s claw grasped him. “Killia. Please. Let go.”  
“What happened to you?” he asked, trying to roll back the cloth.  
Christo anatched his arm away. “It’s none of your concern,” he said with sudden hostility. “Last time I checked, I was the healer here, not you.”  
“Where did that come from? Is it bad?”  
“Must’ve missed a spot.” He slipped his fingers up to feel the wound and winced. Alright, that one was bad. He held the edges together and tried to heal it, but it was refused to close.  
“Lemme see.”  
“Jeez, Killia, you shouldn’t be worrying about me while there’s more important things to be concerned about. We have to save Liezerota.”


	6. Gospel of Power

“Lieze!” Killia howled as the darkness consumed her. The hurt and desperation in his voice was so thick that his allies flinched back, almost as if it were a tangible force in the air.  
“Killia,” Seraphina began, trying to reach him.   
He moved out of her arm’s reach without giving her a second glance.  
Christo cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up with feigned smugness. “Why don’t we stop saying each other’s names and end this war, mm?”  
Even as he said it, his thoughts ran in a different direction. Selfish as it was, he didn’t want this battle to end. There’d be no need for a rebel army when this was over. They’d part ways, and he would be left all alone. Again.   
But maybe that was fair punishment. He couldn’t say that he didn’t deserve it.   
All that thinking tended to leave his brain half a step behind his body, and by the time he had decided to refocus on the present he was already high in the sky with his wings spread wide. The miniscule figures below him bowed their heads and pretended not to see; there was still that unspoken courtesy between him and them. He held out his hands and mouthed a prayer.   
White-hot light burst from his palms and rocketed down to the frail earth below. He had put the full force of his power behind it, and it cracked the ground like an egg. He heard Void Dark scream.  
But Christo had forgotten that he could not use so much strength at once. His wings suddenly went slack, and he tumbled from the sky. He was shedding feathers at an alarming rate as he dropped.   
Luckily, those shed feathers caught Killia’s attention. He looked up to see an angel plummeting out of the sky. He leapt upwards to catch him. Christo thudded into his arms as he landed safely back on the ground. “Be careful.”  
Those two words were enough to make his heart start beating itself against his ribcage like a frenzied animal. He hoped Killia didn’t notice. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he disentangled himself and stood on his own. He rocked on his feet a bit, but planted his staff into the ground to keep himself steady. He took a deep breath and focused back on Void.  
As long as he could keep everyone healed, his allies could easily take him down. Christo felt his fingertips grow warm with healing magic, and prepared himself to play his part


	7. Home?

Killia buried his face in Liezerota’s hair and breathed deep, trying to assure himself of the solidity of her. He could scarcely believe this was real. She was here, alive, in his arms. Her tail curled around his legs.   
Nearly a week had passed, and he still didn't quite dare to put his full faith in her return. Even so, he did his best to make up for the lost time.  
Seraphina watched them with jealousy, but not even she would interfere. Christo, too—by now, Killia was painfully aware that he had fallen dubiously-horned-head-over-heels for him, but it was easier to pretend he didn't know. That way no one was outright rejected and they could all keep on dreaming.  
But it was a little annoying (and concerning) how Christo was now the only member of their band of rebels who hadn't returned home once.  
It was about time that Killia confronted him about it. “You planning on staying here forever, Christo?”  
His name in Killia’s mouth hurt. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked jokingly, but the heartbeat thrumming in his ears told him that deep down, he was afraid it wasn’t a joke.  
“No. But this is Seraphina’s place. You do have to go home eventually…”  
“Killia, do you really think I have one?” Christo snapped. The words slipped out of his mouth before his brain had a chance to double-check them, and he regretted them immediately. “Not that I do. Don’t. Whatever.” He let out a low hiss of a breath between his teeth. “I—”  
Christo’s phone rang. He flinched in surprise at the noise, his fingers fumbling in his pocket to pull out the device.  
“Hello?” he said, turning away from Killia so that the demon would not see the expression on his face.  
“Yeah, Christo-chan! We need you to report back. Immediately. Or else I’ll track you down! Byyyeee~!”  
“What?” he asked, a moment to late. His superior had already hung up. He turned back to Killia. “Guess I am going home now,” he said with a helpless shrug. “See you later?”  
Killia nodded after a moment’s hesitation. “... Yeah.”


	8. Fall From Grace

An old poem came suddenly to mind:

he fell like a stone falls,  
like a bird with broken wings,  
like an angel cast down.  
His landing bruised the world.

He almost wanted to laugh, if only his shattered ribs would let him. It wasn’t funny. Blood loss must be making him delirious.  
He didn’t know if calling it “falling” was accurate; the whole thing had been a bit of a blur. And if anything got bruised, it was him, not the world.  
Broken might be a more accurate term. Angry angels were not gentle. He didn’t want to move, no matter how uncomfortable it was to be lying here with his face smushed up against the ground. It would hurt a whole lot worse when he opened his eyes. Still, he couldn’t stay here forever, so Christo moved his arms underneath his body, gritted his teeth, and pushed himself up.  
His body was so much lighter without wings. He had miscalculated the amount of strength he needed, and his body shot up too fast. He felt something snap in his spine, then tasted dirt again. His lips had a few punctures in it thanks to his new fangs, and he spat out a muddy mess of blood and earth.  
Christo took a deep breath and prepared himself to try again. This time, he was careful to take it slow. He had gotten most of his upper body off the ground when he thought about his wings again. He would miss them. Out of habit, he flexed the muscles that would have controlled them, but—  
Unbearable pain lit up his shoulders, and a fleshy ripping noise reached his ears. He slammed back down with a whimper.  
When he twisted his head to see what had happened, he immediately regretted it. They were wings, yes, sprouting from his back, but not the kind he was used to. Gone were his beautiful feathers. Now they were crumpled and leathery, stuck to each other with blood like the wet wings of a newly emerged butterfly. They twitched and shuddered. A faint breeze teased the strips of skin still stuck to their surface.  
He looked away and tried to shut the image of them out of his head. “Third time’s the charm?” he said to no one. He summoned what was left of his strength and heaved himself upright. This time, he managed to make it to his feet. He staggered, leaned too far one way and then the other. His tail—since when did he have a tail?—whipped through the air with a will of its own to balance him.  
Thank God he had adjusted his healing to work on demons too. If he should be even thanking God at all. He flexed his fingers, muttered a few words, and let the wave of glowing relief wash over him and carry away the pain. He sighed, and his new wings drooped and dripped blood onto the grass. He wiped his glasses against his clothes to clear the lenses of the gore, put them on, and tried to figure out where he was.

Flowerful. Just his luck, huh? The laugh caught in his chest like broken glass scraped its way up his throat.  
Liezerotas as far as the eye could see mocked him with their cheerful yellow brightness.


End file.
